Return of the Kobold King
Falcon's Hollow: The Search for Blackwood Ale Ragnar the apprentice barman at Jak-a'-Napes was too busy polishing the counter to notice when the door opened. He was more concerned about the stain that Old Jurson had left on his counter. Next time, he promised himself, he'd make sure to get Jak Crimmy to charge the dribbling lout double, if not triple. Slowly, the lack of noise from the rest of his customers sunk into his awareness and he looked up. At first, he thought he was having a waking nightmare. He felt the blood drain from his face as he looked straight into the crimson-skinned and tusked face of what he assumed had to be a half-orc. He'd never seen an orc-kin with blankly-glowing white eyes, great curved horns curling from his brow, or large hands whose fingers ended in wicked sharp talons. As his brain struggled to reconcile the diabloical visage in front of him, a motion distracted him for a second as a taller, well-built half-orc woman pushed in front, seeming to ignore the horrifically fiendish visage of the man that stood beside her. "Beer", she demanded, with a tone of command, "From the good barrel." "Cer-certainly," stammered Ragnar, trying very hard not to stare at either the horned man or the buxom woman, especially as she leaned over the counter. "Well, hurry up!" called out the woman, slamming a green fist against the counter. "I've travelled a long way and I'm thirsty. Oh, and he'll be paying." She gestured with a calloused thumb behind her, at her red-skinned companion. "Tyln, you can take it off what you owe me!" Tyln shook his horned head slightly and carefully withdrew out a small notebook and charcoal pencil from an inside pocket of his leather coat with a clawed hand, deftly marking down some sort of note. Ragnar hastily grabbed one of the flagons and tapped the beer barrel, his hands shaking slightly, almost throwing the beer at the woman before the flagon was full. Her eyes narrowed and low growl vibrated from her throat as she looked at the split beer on the counter and the beer-head that was rapidly collapsing. Ragnar gulped. Without a comment, and maintaining an unnerving stare, the half-orc woman poured what remained of the beer down her throat in one swallow, and slammed the tankard back onto the counter. "Now... give me a proper beer," she growled. "Y-y-yes, ma'am!" yelped Ragnar, growing obviously more panicked. Tyln let out a weary sigh, although to call it a sigh was an mis-statement; it sounded more like knife being sharpened on gravel. "Trath?" he asked, his voice a low dusky growl full of menace, "You sure this is the place?" Trath shrugged, as another beer was placed in front of her, this one containing even less beer than the first. "Don't know. There are two taverns here, so if it's not this one, then it must be the other." Ragnar swallowed as Tyln turned toward him, his sharp claws digging slightly into the pitted and stained wood of the bar. "You sell Darkwood Ale here?" asked the horned man, his voice hinting at an undercurrent of barely-restrained violence, leaving Ragnar with the mental image of being ripped out of his skin. As the question sunk into his mind, he visibly brightened, almost sighing with relief. "No! No, you want the Sitting Duck," he replied. "We're not authorised to sell that here." Tyln harumphed and turned to his companion. "Trath, we're going." "Just a moment," replied Trath as she leaned in close to the barkeep, whose forehead was starting to bead with sweat, her finger prodding him in the chest. "This little skin-flint has short changed me on my beer." "P-please, ma'am," begged Ragnar, his words tumbling out in a hurry, "Please! It was on the house! And you can take the flagon, as well!" Trath looked taken aback for a brief second before nodding her assent. "Thanks." She placed the tankard into a pouch in her backpack. "Come on Tyln, stop dawdling. Let's go to that other tavern... perhaps they serve a proper measure of beer." As she made her way towards the door, Trath added, "Actually I wouldn't mind getting a tankard from them as a reminder, too. You know... start a collection or something." As the two left the tavern, Ragnar permitted himself a look down at the counter, now covered in beer and supporting new dents, With a sigh, he went back to cleaning it up. The noise in the tavern started up again, this time with a more questioning tone. Falcon's Hollow: The Shopping Spree Sid the shopkeeper watched as his wife left the shop from the corner of his eye as he swept the floor. As soon as she was out of sight, he stopped sweeping and rested upon his broom. The door creaked open and for a moment the light streaming into the shop dimmed as Trath strode through the doorway. Putting his broom to the side, Sid sighed and stated bluntly, "What do you want? We don't offer credit, and if you just want to browse, you can piss off." Trath looked at the man for a second and, gritting her teeth, said with a false calm, "I was looking for some travelling supplies. I also want some enchanted bracers... if you have any." "You want a what? Think you can just come in here and demand whatever you feel like?" With a sigh, Trath reached out almost casually and grabbed shopkeeper by the front of his smock, lifting him until he was face to face with her. "Listen here, you little worm, I asked you politely," she snarled, her civil façade dropping immediately, "And given that I am hot and dusty and dirty, that I've been short-changed and served sub-standard beer, and that I'm about to go and risk my hide for a pittance so that you might sleep well tonight... you should count yourself lucky that I don't reach down your throat right now and drag your guts out after I have loosened them with the haft of one your woodcutting axes over there through the wrong way. I might just have followed by using them as handle wrapping or maybe even a noose, after I had used them to clean my teeth. Now, get me the following!" She rattled off a complex list of goods and items. "And don't ever let me catch you trying to stare down my top again!" With that she all but threw the smaller man to the floor with one hand, dusted off her hands and started to open her coin-pouch. "Well, were are my goods?" "Um... erm... what was it you wanted, again?" stammered the now flustered shopkeeper as he tried to place as much distance between himself and Trath without being obvious. With a glower and nearly a sigh, Trath reiterated her list. "I need six torches, six flasks of oil and a hooded lantern, a dozen pitons and a hammer, fifty feet--no, make that a hundred feet of silk rope, two waterskins, two weeks' worth of trail rations, two blankets, three large burlap sacks, a half-score of tindertwigs and an everburning torch. Although I suspect you don't have one of those!" Taking a deep breath, she continued. "A compass, some grapple arrows, three should do, a pair of spiked gauntlets, two bags of flour, a ball of stout twine and a very large bar of soap." Sid blinked at Trath, his arms full of the first few objects she requested. "And now that we are on pleasant speaking terms once again, do you happen to have behind the counter any of the following: a cloak of resistance, bracers of protection, sleeves of many garments or muleback cords." Trath smiled and rather sweetly finished, "Really, can you please stop staring at my chest? Your wife over there is giving you some very dirty looks." As the shopkeeper grew rather pale, a thought struck Trath. "I don't suppose you have a kilt? Probably not. Oh, I also will need a mirror and a small tent. A bear ran off with my last one--and no, you don't want to know the story, either." Several minutes later, Trath counted out and slid over a large amount of gold to the shopkeeper, who counted it, at Trath's insistance. Sid winced as the half-orc started to pack her goods, tossing items randomly into her backpack, not seeming to care about the order. Finally, far too long and short a time for the brow-beaten shopkeeper, Trath grunted "Right. See you later." Taking a deep breath, Sid turned to face his agape wife as Trath slammed the shop door behind her. Falcon's Hollow: The Weasel Went A-Wandering Tyln stopped suddenly on the path, raising a clawed hand to tell his companions to stop, as they did without question, their eyes darting around the wood, hands quietly grasping weapons. It took Payday and his band of hired men several seconds to notice the adventurers had stopped, so they had walked a couple of paces ahead, so focused were they on maintaining their footing on the rutted path. "The camp is about a mile up this track?" said Tyln, the question almost a statement. Payday nodded silently. "We need to approach quietly," stated the tiefling. Almost as one, Trath, Tyln, Rhydon and Gerben stepped off the path and slipped into the undergrowth. Minty followed a moment later, a faint trail of green motes the only sign of her as she vanished into the woods too. Payday and his men blinked a few times, "Well?" demanded Payday, his voice scornful, "After them, you useless jacks!" The guards looked uncertainly into the woods, unable to hear or see those that wandered off. "Get a move on, I'm not paying you to look at the trees!" With sighs and muttered curses, the guards trudged into the foliage. Geran turned to his companion Sardek and whispered, "This ain't gonna end well." Sardek nodded with a wry smile as he concentrated on avoiding the tree roots that seemed to be growing in number the deeper they pushed into the woods. About an hour later, the party was on the edge of the abandoned lumber camp. Trath grit her teeth and swore as she heard a chitinous crunch underfoot. She muttered and continued to swear quietly about 'bloody insects' and similar under her breath. Even the faint bits that Rhydon could make out were enough to make even the stoic dwarf raise an eyebrow. The half-orc's face scrunched up in disgust as she attempted to scrape the goo off her boot and onto a nearby tree-root. Chi, slipping off Minty's shoulder like a small brown blur, lost no time in darting over and making a quick meal of the gloopy mess. Casting a mournful glance at the last iridescent fragments that stubbornly clung to Trath's boots, he scurried out into the lumber camp clearing. Speaking sotto voce, her voice carried to her companions by her mastery in the Arts, Minty relayed back what the weasel saw. Listening in, the rest of the group alternately nodded in anticipation or frowned in displeasure at the news. It looked like there was going to be bloodshed, but that was expected given the situation. However, it only looked like most of the opposition were going to be kobolds, plenty in number and led by a few veterans. Although outnumbered, it looked and sounded like it would be possible (with care) to divide and conquer the lot of them. As for the loggers at the camp, they all seemed to be either dead or missing, with the exception of a single fellow, possibly near death and tied to a pillar in the central clearing. If he was even alive, which the party was not certain about. This was even better news, as it meant there was no need to be too careful and worry about prisoners and the various complications that arose from their presence. Falcon's Hollow: Trips, Traps and Talons Getting bored of the discussion, Trath started forward. She was careful to avoid the human and kobold bodies that lay scattered around, as she made her way slowly around the edge of the camp towards the building which the group had designated as the camp office. The group knew that there were four kobolds hidden inside, thanks to Chi peeking through the window. However, a they were pretty sure that a sleep spell through the self-same window would tip the odds even further in their favour. Trath reached the door and waited as the others approached. As she looked around, she noticed yet another bit of insect stuck to her boot and tried to dislodge it on the doorstep. This momentary lack of attention cost her dearly, as a unusually coloured kobold (which obviously had been missed by the Chi's search) stood up in a nearby cart and, with a high pitched war-cry, cut loose a rope nearby. With a sudden creak of wood, a massive log swung down from the trees towards the group and the kobold, in what can only be described as a fit of madness, jumped atop it. Severally, the party's jaws dropped with surprise as they watched the log speed towards them, ridden by a kobold whooping and yelling, waving his spear and trying to keep his balance all at the same time. The whooping all too soon changed into a short scream as the kobold fell off and landed face-first in the mud, much to the detached amusement of the onlooking party. The fall of the kobold shattered the group's surprise and they attempted to scatter. Trath, having no room to get out of the way, braced herself against the wall to withstand the impact of the log. She got away with some nasty bruising and a few scrapes as the huge log whistled past her. Rhydon, on the other hand, was not so lucky, and took the log full on the chest. With a crack of wood, he was knocked to the ground. Her temper starting to rise, Trath started to move towards the kobold ambusher, her aklyses seeming to fly out of their sheaths. The kobold, by now on his feet, looked up to see green, tusked death stalking towards him, totally failing to notice as Gerben, Rhydon's large brown bear, charged into his flank and tore off his head from his body with a single crunching bite. A panicked yell from Minty alerted the group that they would have no respite. The corpses of the kobolds, despite being dead, with groans and moans and other noises which cannot be described they lurched to their feet and shambled towards the party. "Zombies", Tyln called out calmly. "Bladed weapons only." "Pah!" commented Trath, as she watched Tyln rip one of the zombie kobolds in two, using nothing but his taloned hands. "Guess I will just have to beat them to death instead." She turned to face one of the zombies making its way towards her, but while making sure she had her footing, the zombie showed an unseemly burst of speed and slashed at her, which she managed to sidestep at the last moment. Her return blows, the first, second, third and fourth all connected, each one driving the kobold deeper into the mud until only it's head remained on the surface. Barely damaged, it was at least immobilised in the mud. To her left, Rhydon had regained his feet, and fairly silently (for a dwarf, that is) rushed forward and knee-capped the closest zombie, before finishing it off with a back swing that separated its head from its neck. The remaining zombies did not last long, meeting their final fate through the claws of Tyln or Gerben, Rhydon's axe, Minty's magic and occasionally through being pummelled to pieces by Trath's twin aklyses. "And I was just getting warmed up!" smirked Trath, as the last of the zombies fell. She looked at her besmirched clubs and sighed, "It's going to take an age to clean these!" Flicking the gore from his taloned hands, Tyln simply rolled his eyes. Catching sight of Chi, Trath held out her aklyses hopefully and called out, "Here, weasel weasel weasel! Would you like to lick some tasty zombie from these?" Chi gave her a dirty look, and scurried up Minty's leg, back and then onto her head, leaving a faint trail of mud behind him. "I am afraid that Chi’elavaretena Tyvrion’ella, Prince of the Verdant Swale, Master of the Moonlight Hunt and Dominar of the Five-Furlong Hedge prefers his food a touch fresher," explained Minty. "Otherwise it might cause him indigestion. He has delicate constitution, did you know?" Under her breath, it sounded like Minty was muttering to herself, “I know I do, you never stop bloody telling me.” Trath could have sworn that Chi showed his affirmation from atop Minty head with a single authoritative nod. Muttering to herself, Trath drew a cloth out of her bag and attempted to wipe the worst of the putrescent gore off her aklyses.